


Your Head Can Be A Prison

by cuddlepunk



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Ana Buddies, Anorexia, Body Image, Eating Disorders, Insecurity, Multi, Pro-Ana, it gets weird, this is fucked up okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlepunk/pseuds/cuddlepunk
Summary: Coming to stand closer to him, Ryan sighs. He moves so gracefully, long thin limbs and an air of elegance. “You should really eat something before you go on stage.”“I wanna be lovely.” William says weakly, bony hands scratching through his hair. Patrick winces from where he watches. He wants to be lovely as well.###“I’m not stupid, alright? I see what you two do together. Throwing up in the bathrooms and convincing each other not to eat for days. I need that.”or, an exploration of morality, friendship, and a bitch named ana keeping you gripped by the throat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> heya sorry i havent posted in forever lol,, also my dudes im so sorry i keep making patrick feel like shit. i might write a one shot where hes a confident body positivity icon to apologize 
> 
> also most of this is from my personal experience from having an eating disorder for around 4 years, ive dealt with the "pro ana" community (i have so many opinions on the whole thing) and i have had an irl ana buddy too. also u guys tell me what you wanna see in this, who you ship, what should happen. this was a lot of fun to write but i dont really know where i wanna take it from here yet, so 
> 
> stay safe xoxo

William is miserable. He’s dismal, disgusting, morbid, and gross. Or at least that’s what he feels, coughing up mucus and wiping sleep from his eyes. His throat burns from throwing up and singing (but what’s the difference). He’s not fucking pretty on the inside. Harsh lights that line wide mirrors illuminate his slight frame, makeup brushes and half empty water bottles rolling around on the table below the mirror. 

But William is just so beautiful on the outside, Patrick thinks, barely peering around the corner and into William’s dressing room. His golden blue eyes focus in on William’s snow pale skin, the shadows showing off his collarbones and hips. So incredibly pretty on the outside, dainty and lithe, a ballerina, an actually successful singer and frontman. 

Patrick backs further away when he hears someone else enter William’s room, Ryan’s voice ringing out softly, “Dude, are you okay? Had enough water?”

William tries to laugh, but it’s cut off by a cough. “I think I’ve been drinking too much. Water, that is. There’s nothing else in me.”

Coming to stand closer to him, Ryan sighs. He moves so gracefully, long thin limbs and an air of elegance. “You should really eat something before you go on stage.”

“I wanna be lovely.” William says weakly, bony hands scratching through his hair. 

Patrick winces from where he watches unknown. He wants to be lovely as well.

“I know. But you also wanna be a singer.” Ryan reaches for the mini fridge in the dressing room, pulling out a cup of fresh fruit, handing it to William. “Don’t screw over your band for this. It’s not healthy.”

William groans, but takes the cup. “None of this is healthy.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything in return, doesn’t react when a strawberry is brought to his friend’s chapped lips, the first thing he’s had to eat today and they both know it. 

Patrick walks back to his dressing room. He wants to be one of them.

###

After the gig, everyone settles down and heads to the nearest run down hotel. Adrenaline highs pool up and leak out, exhaustion and release setting in as it always does. The slight guilt and intense fond numbness performances always bring. 

Ryan and William are inseparable. They always share a room when they can. It’s not hard for Patrick to find them later, after getting their room number from Sisky. Walking down the long, winding hotel hallways, Patrick stops to knock on their door. 

It’s Ryan who opens the door. Dull brown eyes hide emotion when he says, “Come in.”

Ryan goes to sit next to William on one of their two beds, their long, thin fingers entwined. Their chests rise and fall like brushstrokes, painting the walls with flowers and fields. It all feels a little surreal to Patrick. 

Of course William perks up as soon as he catches a glimpse of Trick’s patterned hoodie. “Hey! What’s up, man?”

Patrick clears his throat, cherry red lips coming to speak, “I wanna be like you. I want help.”

The television plays in the background, unknown voices spewing out unnecessary conversation. It all gets tuned out by the ringing in Patrick’s ears. His heart is in his throat. 

“What do you mean?” It’s a question, but Ryan speaks it without much emotion at all. 

“I’m not stupid, alright? I see what you two do together. Throwing up in the bathrooms and convincing each other not to eat for days. I need that.”

It’s not even much of a surprise, and that’s the worst part. Everyone in the whole world knows about Patrick and his insecurities. But William and Ryan look at Patrick and see a kid with so much good in him, kind and intelligent and so full of life. Full of dumb movie references and memorized guitar tabs, filled to the brim with love and understanding. Patrick still has baby fat, rosy cheeks, bright eyes. He’s got so much going for him, and the two of them should really tell Pete.This kid needs some cereal and a good cuddle. But when have either of them ever done the right thing. 

With William and Ryan, both of them were fucked before they even met. There was no hope, barely any lingering softness, no energy or color or reason not to. So far down the wrong road that turning back wasn’t an option. Over the age of 18, able to refuse help even if anyone did try to do anything. Both of them would be doing all this by themselves if they didn’t have each other. What’s worse, suffering alone, or with a friend? It’s still wrong, so, so wrong, but it’s not as bad as taking with them this… this kid. This honest to god /kid/ with a whole life to look forward to.

“I don’t know.” William responds, conflicted and saddened. “Doesn’t Pete love you just the way you are? You look fine.”

“Don’t you two love each other too? I’m not doing this for anyone else. I’m doing it for myself.” Patrick speaks like he’s on autopilot, generic phrases he’s been repeating in his head since he saw what they were up to. 

Ryan squeezes his eyes shut, turns to William, “What do you think?”

“We can’t kill this kid.”

“It won’t kill me.” Patrick bites back, sharp. “You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? Why can’t I -”

“I don’t wanna see you ten feet under, Trick. You’re barely standing on the ground.” Ryan talks back, soft, understanding. He was there once too. They both were.

Patrick shakes his head, honey blonde hair falling into his eyes. “You can’t stop me. I can do this on my own, I’m not some little kid.”

It's not their place to tell anyone, is it? It would make them total hypocrites. “Do you think I couldn’t? Because I can, I really can, I mean it…”

Ryan swallows. “I don’t doubt you. There’s the rub I guess.”

None of them really know what to do. 

###

They decide for the night to just let Patrick chill with them awkwardly. Or maybe not awkwardly, considering the three of them are so beyond social norms and stubbornness. They sit around and talk about insecurities, sipping on zero calorie vitamin water like it’s ambrosia. 

“I guess it’s my face, you know, that I’m the most insecure about,” Ryan says, his spidery legs hanging over the edge of a hotel bed. “Not even because I don’t like my face. It’s just that you can’t hide your face, you know? Or your hands, really. Those are the two parts that it’s almost socially unacceptable to cover. Sometimes I just wanna be unseen.” All of them nod like it’s the word of God. 

The television plays ads about weight loss pills and stories about celebrity bodies. News channels play studies on the dangers of obesity, of world hunger. All of it passes through their brains as one entity and gets filed away under one broad category. An umbrella termed pandora’s box to contain all the objectification, all the insecurities, and inadequacies. Synonyms. 

It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like they’ve all reached this higher understanding. Like some sort of english major’s unreadable metaphors. It kinda makes sense now, even if it doesn’t. What’s going on between them, what’s to happen next. There’s a sort of high, Patrick’s learned, that comes with starvation. Emptiness inside creates extra space that becomes an open mind. 

Because now, none of them can judge. None of them could call someone else out. What they’re doing is so wrong on so many levels, who are they to speak out. And in the same vein, who’s anyone else to stop them. They sit together on creaky hotel beds and watch the sunrise in strawberry jam reds. Skip the most important meal of the day, get ready like they didn’t spend the night talking about self hatred. Then they get up and go back to their tour buses like none of it ever happened. 

Somewhere inside all three of them, anticipation stirs.


End file.
